Boy with a Burden
by Madam B
Summary: Harry must deal with the loss of Sirius while overcoming many other obstacles. A kidnapping, dark and ancient magic, Voldemort and, possibly worst of all, hormones stand in Harry's way. Can he make it through his 6th year in one piece? Can he and his frie
1. A Most Dreadful Summer

A Boy with a Burden

Chapter 1: A Most Dreadful Summer

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling. Please excuse me while I go weep at my lack of accomplishment. You're rubbing it in now, aren't you? Just because I am nowhere near as rich as, nor am I richer than, the Queen…Anyway, it's all Jo's. The plot is mine, and even that I probably copied from a bunch of other fanfics.

P.S. Jo says she doesn't actually have billions. I bet it's $9,999,999. I suppose it would be pounds, though. What I can say? I'm an ignorant American, I don't think in pounds.

P.P.S. Can you put a post-script on a disclaimer or am I breaking code 35, section E of disclaimer rules?

A/N: So, my first fan fic. I'd love some reviews. I know it's difficult to log in and type 3 words and press enter, but if you are willing to do so for me…well, golly, I'd be just delighted! Thanks to those of you who do review! Here goes!

Harry Potter leaned a weary head against the cool wall of his room at number four Privet Drive. He sat on his bed, head back, thinking. He had been doing just that, thinking, all summer. Harry had a lot to think about, not only because he was a wizard, but because he was chosen by the most powerful and evil wizard of all time as an equal. It was that fateful day almost 16 years ago that had led to what Harry was thinking of now. Sirius Black, his late godfather, was what he had been mulling over. At the moment, Harry was drowning in a sea of guilt.

That night in the Department of Mysteries had been haunting Harry for the two weeks he had been at Privet drive. Thoughts flew rapidly around Harry's head. Thoughts of Sirius dueling with Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius' laughter, "Come on, you can do better than that!" Then, unexpectedly, the veil rose to meet Harry's godfather, and he was gone.

The scene engrossed Harry constantly. Lestrange's voice filled his head during every waking moment. "Come out, come out, little Harry!" A gripping pain in his stomach came about whenever he thought of Sirius. A gnawing ache of grief coursed through the very essence of Harry. He could not think straight, his mind was a mass of woe. He, Harry, had killed Sirius. That much he knew.

Despite his friend's assurance that he was not to blame, he couldn't help letting the guilt consume him. Day after day he had been getting letters from everyone, absolutely everyone he knew, telling him that "It was not his fault." D_id they not understand_" thought Harry_. Did they not see that it was Harry's stupidity, his foolish _naïveté _that destroyed Sirius?_

The injustice of it all brought a quiver to Harry's lip. _Why? Why? Why him? Why me? _Though his lip trembled Harry did not cry. He would not. He was too remorseful cry; it would be an insult to Sirius' name. He had to close up. Harry knew that he had to don the façade of neutrality. Harry had to be the Boy-Who-Lived, the homicidal, hazardous "hero" who was responsible for the deaths of countless people. Harry had to be the machine that others found false comfort in.

The 'What Ifs' took control of his mind. What if he had learned occlumency? If he had, would Sirius still be there? Why hadn't he used the mirror? How could he have been so stupid, so naïve? These questions had been running through his head all summer, virtually putting his entire life on hold.

Harry had locked himself in his room the moment he got back from Kings Cross station. For two weeks he had not emerged. His aunt and uncle did not stop him from locking himself in but they did not force him to come out either. He found himself thinking that Mrs. Weasley would have. As soon as he realized that he was thinking this, he made himself stop. _You should not put them in danger by caring about them. You have to stop. Voldemort can get into your brain, remember. _

Harry, having locked himself in, had not eaten more than a few chocolate frogs for the duration of his time at Privet Drive. He could not eat. How could he go on living when Sirius was not? Sirius could not eat because of him, and Harry was not about to have a meal if his godfather could not. Besides, Harry had no appetite. Harry's mourning occupied his stomach with an unpleasant sorrow more filling than any meal. So, with no one present to make him, Harry simply did not eat.

Harry had grown a lot over the past couple of weeks. He was much taller, though still not as tall as Ron. He once again had the look of a boy, or perhaps a man, that had been starved for a long time. His shoulders were broader, but his ribs were becoming alarmingly visible. Harry's face was thinner than usual and his hair messier than ever. It gave Harry had the look of a famished, disheveled man that had been awoken by a particularly loud air-horn.

The biggest change in Harry, though, was not physical, it was mental. Harry no longer had the innocence of a child. Before Sirius' death, he could think about the world and see the good things. He could appreciate children playing in the sandbox, smile at their laughter. Now, though, Harry could not. He could not smile because of pleasant things, he could not laugh. Each day in his room, he tried to find any part of him, just a tiny, miniscule part that could still laugh. Harry spent hours upon hours searching inside of himself for that laughter, but he was unable to find it.

Everyone that Harry knew had written him frequently. Harry suspected that Mrs. Weasley had forced her entire family, except Percy, to write to him. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, all together somewhere, wrote him every day. He was also showered with letters from Mrs. Weasley, Remus Lupin, and Tonks daily. Dumbledore, Fred and George, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and even Mad-Eye Moody had written him.

In every letter Harry was reminded that if he did not respond in three days, the Order would come and get him. Harry swallowed hard every time he read this. He did not want to be with them. He could not, no matter the circumstances, go back to – go back there. Harry did not want to be with people, he wanted to shut up inside himself. He wanted to be in this solitary dream-state where all that mattered was what was no longer there.

So, unwilling to ignore the letters entirely and be bothered, Harry answered them with as little as possible. Each and every letter said the following: _I'm fine. _The letters said nothing more and nothing less. Each morning, when Harry awoke, he was always slightly surprised that he did not see bright orange hair accompanying an angry yet worried Weasley into his bedroom. Harry was glad about this, or at least he thought he was. Secretly, sub-consciously, Harry was dismayed that no one came pounding on the front door, demanding him to come out that instant. Did none of them care?

_No_, Harry found himself thinking, _no_. He could not care about them, any of them. For if he did, they would be hurt, killed. Voldemort would pick them off; murder everyone Harry cared about, everyone that was brave enough to help him, kind enough to help him. Voldemort had done it before and Harry knew that he would do it again if he had the chance. So, Harry had reached a decision. He was going to be alone. If being with others put them in danger, he would gladly be alone. Besides, it hurt for him to read their letters, let alone see their faces.

For two very long weeks, Harry fulfilled his wish. He sat, day in and day out, on his bed. He stared into space, lost in the remorse of the past. He knew Ron, Hermione, and everyone else would not approve of his moping, and he was glad to be able to grieve on his own. At the moment, Harry was inspecting the ceiling, his eyes slowly closing, drooping as if lead weights were attached to his eyelashes.

_Harry was running down the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. He ran and ran, the passage getting longer and longer. He was tired, out of breath, but he wouldn't stop running. Harry had to get to Sirius. He had to warn him. There were mirrors on the walls. Everywhere Harry looked he saw himself, his guilty, murderous self. He ran faster and faster, farther and farther. He was trying to get to something, but he didn't know what it was. Suddenly, Sirius stood in front of him, his pointer finger outstretched. Sirius was pointing at Harry. "You. You. It was you." he said coldly, his voice monotone. Then, as suddenly as he had come, he was gone, and Harry was sprinting down the corridor once again. Whatever he was trying to reach was coming no closer. Harry was simply running down an endless passage. He tore down the hallway, his trainers smacking the hard floor with a thud. Without warning, Harry ran straight into something black and billowy. "Aaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhhhh!" Harry screamed as he collided with the veil. _

Harry awoke, sweating profusely. He had had the very same nightmare countless times after that night in the Department. Harry stood, his bed soaked with perspiration. Sleeping was a chore for Harry, an unwelcome task. He was not going to sleep again that night, so he sat on the hard wooden floor, staring at Hedwig's empty cage. Hedwig had left to deliver Harry's tri-daily "I'm fine" letter. He could see that her cage needed a good cleaning, but he was not willing to do it. Harry had lost all drive.

All day Harry sat on the floor, gazing at the cage. He saw the metal bars, the lock only operable from the outside. He knew just how it felt to be locked in one of those things. He was locked in one at that very instant, confined by his mind. Did death feel like this, he wondered. Did death feel like a fenced in compound, a place to look out enviously at life?

Harry lost track of time. Day turned into night, which meshed with sunrise and mingled with dusk. The alarm clock had no meaning, he could not see it and did not understand, nor care, what it said. Eventually, reality intertwined with sleep and Harry drifted off.

Harry awoke, hours later, to the sound of pounding on his door. Expecting it to be an angry Dudley, (Harry had not answered a few days ago when Dudley had demanded his broken television set, which he insisted he was going to "fix") Harry slowly put on his glasses and sat up. His back was stiff from sleeping on the floor. "Shut up." He mumbled groggily as he stood and headed for the door. The chilly doorknob connected with Harry's hand and he turned it. Harry let out a small gasp of surprise as he came face to face with about the most Un-Dursleyish people in the universe.

A/N: So, here it is. Thanks a million to Kaity445 and Miss Radcliffe Thanks to all of the people that reviewed and all those who have offered me help. Thanks! Hope you like Boy with a Burden! Which, I am sorry to say, is pretty outdated. Book six has come and gone and I'm still on chapter 5. Those of you who can bear sixth year stories, read on!


	2. The Letters

Chapter 2: The Letters

As Harry stepped back from the doorway, Fred and George Weasley beamed as they walked forward. It looked as though a small forest fire was spreading through the entrance to his room.

"Hiya Harry!" Fred exclaimed happily. Harry just nodded and sat down on his bed.

"How're you doing, mate? George asked. Harry just shrugged. He decided to close himself up. It was the safest thing to do. He could not put them in danger, hurt them by caring. Harry knew that he should not say a word; it would be easier not to care that way. As soon as he decided on it, though, Harry temporarily ignored this philosophy as he realized that they might be taking him somewhere. Harry looked up quickly.

"What happened? Why are you here?" Harry was becoming slightly panicked.

"Calm down, Harry. Nothing happened. We just came by to visit you."

"And… er… experiment with some of our latest products."

"Oh." Harry said simply, relieved, yet worried at the same time. Why wasn't Voldemort doing anything?

Fred and George had stayed for many hours. They told him about their latest sweets, Sniveling Snapes. They were gummy figurines of the professor that bawled when you called them names. Harry thought that Sirius would have loved them. A lump formed in his throat as he cursed himself for thinking about that.

The twins asked Harry many questions, but after the initial conversation, Harry said nothing. He was embarrassed and ashamed of his actions. He could not look into their eyes. When he did, he saw what he knew was pity. He didn't want their pity. He'd rather they hate him than pity him. It was easier to hate them back. He could deal with hatred. Pity threw him off.

Fred and George told Harry of their business, which, they were proud to say, was booming. "Every midget mischief-maker in London has a WWW bag!" George had exclaimed smugly. Harry had not replied.

Seemingly unfazed by Harry's silence, the pair went on telling him about everything going on at 12 Grimmauld Place, where, Harry learned, the entire Weasley clan was staying. Ron and Hermione were, apparently, bickering as much as ever. It was, as Fred said, "driving the Order mad, completely bonkers!" According to them, Moody had crushed his glass during a particular argument over which side of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich should have the jelly.

After an awkward hour of one-sided conversation, a burst of light appeared in front of George replaced by a single phoenix feather. Harry stood quickly. He knew that the warning was from Dumbledore. Fred opened his mouth to say something, but George beat him to it.

"We've got to go. Dumbledore's called a meeting. Harry, we want you to know that it's not your fault." Harry's eyes narrowed. He had been waiting for this speech. It wasn't his fault - _right_.

"Nobody blames you. It was V-Voldemort." Fred added

"Ron and Hermione told us to tell you that you should talk to them. Hermione almost blew a gasket when she read your letters to the Order. "I'm fine" doesn't seem to cut it for her." George continued.

"Ginny didn't approve either. Let's just say she needed four Order members to restrain her from walking to Surrey by herself." Harry smiled slightly, but neither of the twins saw it.

"And even then she gave them a hard time. Kingsley still has the bruise to show for it."

"Well, bye then." Fred said as he opened the window.

"See you, Harry." George cried, swinging his leg over the window ledge. With that, the two left. Harry watched their flaming red hair until they disappeared entirely. They had Disapparated.

The visit from the twins had not cheered Harry in the slightest. He was as miserable as ever. Nobody blamed him, sure. Did they think he was completely unaware of what was going on outside the walls of his room? Did they think he didn't get the Daily Prophet every day? Was it assumed that he didn't read every word, that he didn't understand every article questioning his motives, even his sanity? Just yesterday the Prophet had printed an article entitled **Harry: Help or Hindrance?** Harry had read the short piece that was underneath the sullen picture of himself.

**Harry: Help or Hindrance?**

By R. Smith

Throughout the past years, members of the wizarding world have put faith in Harry Potter. He has been widely known as our savior, the "hero" who will save us from You-Know-Who. Recently, though, witches and wizards across the world are beginning to doubt the Boy-Who-Lived. "Potter has been spiraling down into depression-like states," says a friend. "He seems to be losing his sanity. He hallucinates and just the other day went wandering down the lane looking for his parents." It is alarming to think that the person we have rested our fate on is not right in the mind. We have been blinded by our need of a rescuer and come up with the delusion that Harry Potter is one. Perhaps Potter is no more than a fake feigning a hero. Maybe our so-called protector is nothing more than a silly little boy playing a game with our lives and the lives of our loved ones. So before you place any more devotion on Harry Potter, stop to think about who the boy really is and whose side he is on.

Harry had not been angry when he read the piece of writing. Instead, he had felt as if it were true. Maybe he _was_ playing a game with others' lives. Maybe they did _not_ need him. Perhaps he could just walk into the muggle world, leave this one behind, and let them find another savior. But as these thoughts passed through Harry's mind, he knew they were untrue. The prophecy ensured that Harry was the one. He had to kill Voldemort or be killed by him, there was no other way. Harry shuddered when the thought of killing someone crossed his mind.

Harry walked to his desk, gazing sadly at the cage again, when Hedwig flew in. Harry leaped out of the way of the owl. She was carrying a letter from Tonks. Harry untied it from her leg and ripped it open. It was his usual letter. He scanned the page, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

_Dear Harry,_

_How have you been lately? Fred and George want you to know that they are expanding the idea of Sniveling Snapes. They are making Hogwarts Havoc Helpers. I feel for those teachers. I just wanted to check in on you. If you don't send a letter back by tomorrow, we're coming for you. Everyone here is worried about you. You'll be happy to know that Kreacher died yesterday. I didn't mind that much. I didn't mind at all, actually. Filthy little- Remus just reminded me that I am writing to you and that I shouldn't curse. Well, now that he's gone... Darn. My conscience is kicking in. Did you smile? You should. Hermione had a fit at Ron's behavior. He "accidentally" jumped for joy when he found a certain dead elf underneath the furnace. Those two will never get a clue, will they? Don't tell them I said that. Well, hope to hear from you soon. _

_-Tonks_

Harry did smile at Tonks' letter, but it was not the smile she was hoping for. It was cold, hateful smile. He did not think Tonks' joke was funny. He was happy that that thing, that vile, foul thing, was dead. The lying traitor deserved to die. He killed Sirius. He told Voldemort about how much Harry cared for him. He told Harry that Sirius was not in Grimmauld Place, when he was. He, along with Harry, had murdered Sirius.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Remus Lupin (who told Harry to call him Moony), Mrs. Weasley, Fred and George, Tonks, and even Dung had sent him letters over the summer. All of their letters were basically the same. They all told him that Sirius' death was not his fault. The letters did nothing to console Harry. Harry felt that they were not necessary. He didn't need therapists. He was a big boy now. He could take care of himself.

Harry was jostled from his stupor by three owls tapping on his window pane. He rose from his bed, wondering who they were from. Harry tore open the first letter. It was from Dumbledore.

_Harry-_

_Don't do anything. Stay at your aunt's house. No matter what you hear, don't move. I will notify you soon. _

_-A.D._

Harry's heart felt as if it had stopped. His hand trembling, he opened the next letter. This one was from Ron and Hermione.

_Dear Harry,_

_LISTEN TO US! Don't do anything dumb. Stay where you are. Please!_

_From,_

_Ron & Hermione_

Harry felt as if he had been hit by a truck. What happened? Why were they sending him these? Why would he do something rash? Was everyone okay? What was going on? Panic bubbled through every cell in his body. Harry felt lightheaded, filled with a terror he hadn't felt since the night at the Department of Mysteries. Harry's mouth dropped open as he read the final letter. He couldn't believe it. It couldn't be. Anything but that! Harry's shaking hand held the final letter. He bit his lip, immensely worried. His eyes hastily shot across the page.

_Harry-_

_I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I know you would if the situation was switched. I'm so scared. They took Mom. Take care of yourself._

_-Gin_

A/N: Muchas gracias to Kaity and Miss Radcliffe, my AWESOME betas! You guys rock!


	3. Information

Chapter 3: Information

A/N: So, here we are. Chapter 3 is up. I never thought this day would come.

Disclaimer: As I am feeling slightly bored and very random, I decided to put a disclaimer on this particular chapter even though I did not put one on the last. Oh, well. As any of you with brains know, I do not have billions of dollars, paparazzi following me, nor

Ginny's handwriting was unsteady, but not as much so as Harry himself. He was trembling from head to toe. _No, not her. _Harry swallowed hard and buried his head in his hands. _Please, anyone but Mrs. Weasley._ She was the closest thing he had to a mother. She cared so much about him and this was how he repaid her, by getting her kidnapped.

Why did this keep happening? Why did everyone close to him get hurt? The answer that Harry found was not one he wanted to hear. _You, _he told himself _you put them all in danger._ Harry's parents, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Sirius and now Molly Weasley were all vulnerable, all targets, because of him. Harry had the chance to end the final battle, to end this war and yet he didn't. Every second that Harry did not act was a second in which others were hurt and Voldemort was gaining strength. Harry felt a sharp pain in his stomach thinking about this. Was he just as bad as Voldemort? No, he told himself, he couldn't be.

Harry's regret and sadness was quickly replaced by anger, which soon became rage. He slammed his fist against the wall. _Not again_. Voldemort may have taken his parents, then Sirius, but he was not about to take Mrs. Weasley. He was not going to let it happen. Every parental figure he ever had was taken by Voldemort except Mrs. Weasley. She was Ron's mom, Ginny's mom! He was not going to leave them motherless. He banged his head against the wall, furious with himself. He had to do something.

Suddenly, Harry heard Uncle Vernon's voice from downstairs.

"BOY! What in the bloody hell are you doing up there? Keep it down I'll…." Harry threw open the door.

"Or you'll what? Lock me in my room? Make me skip supper? That's what I thought!" He screamed.

"You...will...not...talk to me that way, you... you ungrateful-" Harry, his temper getting the better of him, flashed a rude hand gesture at his uncle.

"How dare you? Get out of my house! NOW!" bellowed a purple-faced Uncle Vernon.

"No need to show me the door," Harry said coldly, "I know my way out."

Harry stomped back into his room and opened his trunk. He threw his things unceremoniously into it and, within seconds, was thrusting open the front door of number four.

"I'll see you next summer." Harry said quietly, his eyes boring into Uncle Vernon's skull.

As Harry reached the end of Privet Drive, his anger rapidly disintegrated into sheer terror. What had he just done? He was now alone, out of the protection of his aunt's blood.

"Ho, ho. You can see 'is gears turnin'," Harry spun around, wand out, his heart beating in his throat. "Put that thing away, boy. You gonna curse me?" It was Mundungus Fletcher.

"I will if you don't prove to me that you really are who you say you are."

"What do you wanna know 'Arry?" Harry thought for a moment. His eyes never left the man's hands and his brain never lost concentration.

"What did S-S-… my godfather call Remus Lupin?"

"'E called 'im Moony, cause 'e's a werewolf."

"Why'd they send you?" Harry asked, satisfied with the man's response to his question.

"'Cause Dumbledore knows you better than you think 'e does."

"Where are they keeping her, Dung? You have to tell me." Mundungus looked surprised.

"So you know. I have to tell you, do I? Why?"

"Because you owe it to me. Because you almost got me soulless and expelled form Hogwarts." Mundungus looked around uncomfortably.

"Right, you got a point there. Well, they're not too sure, but they've got an 'unch that she's somewhere in London." Dung looked very angry with himself for letting that information slip.

"Where in London?" Harry demanded, his panic level increasing, "They must have a specific location. Tell me, Dung, or you'll be in serious trouble."

"'Arry, are you threatenin' me?"

"Yes, I am. I got Mrs. Weasley into this and I plan on getting her out."

"'Arry-" Mundungus started.

"Tell me." Harry ordered coolly.

"Dumbledore'll kill me."

"I…don't…care! Where is she? Tell me!" Harry found himself shouting.

"Shhh! Harry, you'll get all the bloody muggle's attention." Dung whispered.

"Then tell me!" Harry hollered.

"Knockturn Alley!" Mundungus said with exasperation, "Oh, Merlin. They'll 'ave my 'ead for this. I can't let you know anymore than that. You can not, by any means, go there. I won't allow it, 'Arry."

"Yes you will, Dung." Harry stated calmly.

"No."

Before he knew it, Harry was holding Dung's wand. He had not cast a spell, nor thought about doing so. But somehow, he was holding two wands, both ominously pointed at the man. "Now you know that I'm serious." Harry said coolly.

Just then, a flash of white light pierced the night, leaving behind a single phoenix feather with a note. It was a warning from Fawkes, from Dumbledore. Harry had a feeling deep down in the pit of his stomach that this wasn't a good sign. Dung picked up the note. He dropped it instantaneously and, with a loud pop, Disapparated. Harry bent and picked up the small piece of parchment. On it was one word;

_BACKUP! _

A/N: So, we are finally done with what was originally chapter 2. If this is accepted on the first try it will truly be a miracle. Thanks a gazillion to Kaity! You are so great that I have to make up numbers to show my gratitude. If I were you, Kaity, I would have killed me already. :) This chapter may not be up until after HBP comes out, but if it is I wish you all good reading on Saturday, or should I say I wish you all good standing-on-line on Friday night. I don't know about you, but I will need the latter.


	4. Conflict and Confrontation

Chapter 4: Conflict and Confrontation

A/N: It's weird to re-write what JKR has already written but I'm going to stick with this. Thanks to everyone for reviewing chapter three even in the wake of something as huge as the sixth book. It was such a great feeling. Plus, (INSERT GIANT SPOILER WARNING HERE!) Ginny and Harry, Ron and Hermione, and Tonks and Lupin are together. I think I speak for all pumpkin pie haters when I say it's about time. Sorry to any H/Hr shippers out there who are mourning the loss of their hopes and dreams. Here is chapter four.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. It was so bad that they needed backup. He needed to get to Knockturn Alley, and fast. He didn't hesitate before he flung out his right hand, his wand hand. Harry jumped backwards as the Knight Bus roared up.

"Hey, you're-" Harry cut Stan, the conductor, off.

"Like last time I was on this thing, you say my name and I will curse you into oblivion." Harry informed the man. Stan Shunpike swallowed and asked quickly,

"Where to?"

"I need to get to The Leaky Cauldron. I need to get there fast. It's an emergency. I'll pay extra, just get me there soon." Harry insisted, pulling his money bag out of the pocket he had thrown it in upon leaving the house.

"Take it all. Get me there, now!" He thrust the entire contents of the bag into Stan's outstretched hands.

"You 'eard the man, Ern. To The Leaky Cauldron and make it snappy."

Within three minutes, Harry was pushing his way through the busy pub, head down. He was trying not to be noticed. To his immense relief, nobody acknowledged his presence. He entered Diagon Alley at a run. Harry turned into Knockturn Alley and immediately saw where Mrs. Weasley was being kept. She was unconscious, attached to a wall at the end of the alleyway. Harry felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over him. This was entirely his fault.

Unexpectedly, a voice he had hoped never to hear again came from behind him. Harry spun around looking straight into the face of Bellatrix Lestrange. A hatred so deep, so powerful, that it consumed his body, arose within him. She laughed a high, indifferent laugh. Her disgusting sing-song voice bounced off of the stone walls around him, creating an echo.

"Nice to see you again Harry." _Nice to see you again Harry. Nice to see you again Harry. Nice to see … _

Lestrange shot a jet of red sparks at him, which he dodged.

"STUPEFY!" He yelled. Harry had missed her, missed his chance. Bellatrix hit him with the Cruciatus Curse. An agony so horrifyingly familiar coursed through Harry's body. He was under the curse for a long time, longer than he had ever been. The pain was excruciating. All Harry could think of, besides the hurt, was how he deserved it. He deserved every bit of the torture. Harry could not understand the feeling, the melancholy reaction to pure anguish. It nearly drove him mad, yet somehow he managed to keep all of his precious sanity. After what seemed like days, the curse lifted.

"Durus!" Bellatrix yelled, aiming a curse at Harry. She missed his torso, but hit his arm. The pain of the Cruciatus Curse had returned, but only in his arm. Temporarily blinded by the intensity of the spell, Harry decided that he had come too far to let this stop him. He pushed towards Mrs. Weasley, throwing stunning spells at every stranger he saw. Harry saw Remus dueling with Lucious Malfoy, when out of the blue he felt something very heavy land on his back.

Peter Pettigrew had thrown himself out of a shop, landing upon Harry. He heard a loud crack as his head collided with stone. Harry didn't feel anything. Every cell capable of recognizing pain was too preoccupied to notice any more.

Shaking Wormtail of, Harry reached Molly Weasley and attempted to untie the knots in the ropes binding her to the wall. The ropes, Harry learned the hard way, were magical. His hands developed welts where the ropes had touched them Harry stopped trying to dodge curses and turned his attention to Mrs. Weasley. Angrily, he pointed his wand at the ropes and screamed the first thing that came to his frenzied mind.

"ALOHAMORA!" The ropes unwound and Mrs. Weasley dropped to the floor. He picked her up and started to make his way back down the alley. He was surprised that the unlocking spell had worked. His surprise was quickly turned to pain as a spell hit his forehead, leaving a wide gash next to his scar.

Harry was holding Molly Weasley in his left arm, his right too injured to bear any weight. It was shaking and pain was surging through every inch of the limb. He was completely unprotected, with no arm to hold, or aim, a wand.

As soon as the thought of being defenseless crossed Harry's mind, a kind of force field formed around him. He saw Tonks aiming her wand at him.

"Get to the Knight Bus. Go to headquarters. Stay there!" Harry sprinted to the end of Knockturn Alley, protected by the shield. He ran out of Diagon Alley, past Tom, the bartender at the Leaky Cauldron, and on to the Muggle street.

For the second time that night, he hailed the Knight Bus, resting Molly Weasley against his body as he assisted his wounded arm in moving. Harry could hear a symphony of screams coming from his brain. Once the bus pulled up, Harry whispered instructions into Stan's ear.

"Take her to number eleven Grimmauld Place in London. Honk your horn until someone, not a muggle, gets her. Use the money I gave you earlier. I will give you more if you don't tell anyone I was here. Don't tell anybody about her either. This never happened. Hurry up!" Stan Shunpike only nodded his eye wide in terror.

"Are-" he began

"GO!" Harry urged, racing back to Knockturn Alley. He had no intentions of going back with her, no matter what Tonks said. He knew he was being dumb, but he had to make this right. After all, it was his fault.

As Harry entered the passage for the second time, adrenaline surged through his entire body. He felt no more pain. He was numb. He had only one thought in his head.

_Get everyone out safely; nobody dies. _

Harry saw Tonks fall to the ground, stunned. He rushed to where she had stood, muttering "Ennervate" under his breath as he passed her. As she began to stir, Harry took her place on a duel with Goyle, the father of Draco Malfoy's crony. He avoided a disarming spell, as he fired the Impedimenta Charm. It hit Goyle and he became immobile. Harry fired a stunning spell at the figure frozen in the action of casting a hex.

Harry spun around as Avery hit him, head on, with the Imperious Curse. Harry's mind went completely and blissfully blank. No pain, no worries, just vast nothingness.

_Tell me where Dumbledore's headquarters are. Tell me._

I don't think I will thank you.

_Tell me!_

No!

_Fine then, put your hands on your head, put your wand down, and don't move._

I said no.

_Do it now you filthy little…thing. NOW!_

NO!

Harry broke the enchantment. He wheeled around again, pointing his wand at Avery.

"STUPEFY!" He screamed. Harry didn't bother to watch and see if his spell hit Avery. He took the opportunity to look at the witches and wizards dueling around him. He saw Lupin, Tonks, Dung, Kinsley, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Hestia Jones, and many other faces that he was familiar with, but could not put to names. Dumbledore was there also. Harry saw lots and lots of revoltingly recognizable faces of Death Eaters. Most of them were wearing masks, but they were all identifiable.

Dumbledore quickly turned from his battle with Nott to look at Harry. He gracefully dodged a curse and, within second, Nott was unconscious on the ground. Harry was forced to stop watching Dumbledore as he was hit by a hex from Crabbe. Harry almost laughed as he realized it was only a jelly-legs hex. He knew the counter-hex by heart. Almost instantly, Harry had regained control of his legs. He fired spells at Crabbe, but he missed. He was exhausted and he couldn't aim well with his left hand.

Harry could tell that the Order was winning. Voldemort was not there at all, and Dumbledore was doing a good job of finishing off a lot of Death Eaters off. Though there were many pops and more Death Eaters arriving, there were far more of them lying on the ground than standing up.

Out of nowhere a deafening boom shook the earth beneath Harry's feet. Voldemort was standing before him. Harry fired a disarming spell, but it was no use. He could barely hear himself say "Expelliarmus!" over the commotion of the scene. Dumbledore appeared by his side, attempting to attract Voldemort's attention away from Harry. It was hopeless. Voldemort turned his hand away from Harry for only a second.

"Avada Kedavra!" He uttered

"NO!" Harry cried, pointing his wand at Dumbledore. "Accio!" he screamed, summoning the great wizard to his side. It had been a spur of the moment decision. Harry was glad the simple spell had worked.

Voldemort didn't say anything, but he shot a spell straight at Harry's chest. The last thing Harry saw before slipping into a vast abyss of black was Voldemort's hand reaching out to touch his scar.

A/N: Hee heee heeeeeeeeee! Clifffffyyyyyy! (And not the last) Hope you liked it. Thanks again to Kaity445 and Miss Racliffe! They make my world!


	5. The Rocovery

Chapter 5: The Recovery

Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own the characters, places, and otherwise magical things in this story as you do not see and copyright signs nor any things saying "Harry Potter characters, names and related indicia… blabitty blah." This story was not written by JKR and is therefore not as cool nor as profitable.

Harry was lying on the floor of number 12 Grimmauld Place. He was unconscious. Around him were other injured members of the Order. Tonks lay next to Harry, clutching her leg. Mrs. Weasley sat next to her, wrapped in a blanket, her cheek cut and teeth chattering despite the fact that it was very warm in the room. She had a face creased with worry. Molly was staring at Harry Potter, eyes filled with unshed tears.

"We should get him to a bed, Remus." She said, looking up at Lupin.

"You're right. I'll move him. Ron, will you help me?" The flame-haired boy stood up, feeling sick as he looked at his unresponsive friend.

Lupin pointed his wand at Harry, muttering "Wingardium Leviosa," At once, he lowered it, horrified. Harry began twitching and seizing as soon as the spell hit him. He shuddered and convulsed, his body hitting the hard floor over and over again. Ron rushed to his side, holding him down.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked with concern in his eyes.

"He's having a fit, I guess. It could be from fever or the Cruciatus Curse." Though Lupin said it, he was not quite sure if it was true. "I suppose we'll wait it out and then move him."

Harry heard voices but could not register what they were saying. His wand arm was in so much pain. Muscles he didn't know he had were shaking. He reached up to touch his burning scar. Harry quickly opened his eyes as he felt hands push his body to the floor.

"What?" he half-whispered and half-moaned.

"Oh! Sorry, mate. Guess you're not having a fit this time, eh?

"What happened?" Harry coughed. His chest felt as if it were split open when he talked. He groaned.

"You kept having fits when we tried to move you. What else is wrong? What hurts? Besides your arm, though. We know about that and we're working on it. What else is wrong, Harry?" This time it was Remus speaking. Pain blinded Harry yet again, but he managed to whisper

"Chest. Head." He coughed hard and pain shot through his whole body. It hurt so much. Everything hurt.

"Your chest hurts?" Remus asked. Harry nodded, causing more discomfort. Remus ripped Harry's T-shirt off of his chest. Ron gasped. Mrs. Weasley made a screeching noise. Harry looked down at himself. There was a huge gash starting at his left shoulder and continuing to his right side. It was deep, very deep. "Somebody get Poppy Pomfrey - soon."

Kinsley Shacklebolt stood immediately and walked briskly out of the house without a word. Harry blinked blood out of his eyes and then shut them tightly. He lay on the cold stone floor, silently suffering.

After a few minutes Madam Pomfrey strode rapidly through the door.

"Potter, you don't see enough of me in school? Miss me so much that you make me come and see you in the summ-" She stopped short, catching sight of the bloodied mess that was Harry. His limp, sweaty body took her breath away. The nurse quickly knelt beside him.

"He keeps having seizures when we move him" Remus said hurriedly.

"Did You-Know-Who touch him?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore said he did." Ron replied.

Madam Pomfrey appeared in Harry's vision. She informed him that what she was about to do may hurt a bit. She waved her wand in an arc over his chest. Harry grimaced, she had been right, it did hurt.

"What else is wrong, Potter?" Harry took a deep breath, breathing fully for the first time since he had awakened.

"My arm…cruciatus…not stopping." He managed to say through clenched teeth. For his whole attention was now focused on his arm and the pain seemed to have doubled.

The woman looked his arm over carefully. Harry winced when she touched him. "Well, there's not much we can do for this. Pain potion will just make it worse. The best thing we can do is let it run its course and let you sleep through some of it. Alright, what else is injured?"

Harry couldn't feel anything else wrong. He shook his head, indicating nothing. Ron got up from the table where he was seated.

"Where's all that blood coming from? There, on his face, what's it from?"

Sure enough, all of a sudden Harry noticed red liquid in his eyes and dripping down his forehead. He blinked to clear his vision, but soon more blood came gushing down over his eyes and glasses, making Madam Pomfrey's face red. With a flick of her wand, the blood stopped flowing. Another wave and all of it remaining on his face was gone.

"Let's get you into bed, shall we? Weasley, I don't want to use anymore magic on him now. Could you bring him up? He'll be alright if you touch him now."

"No, I'll take him," said Remus, every syllable conveying a determined manner.

Harry would have been embarrassed that his friend was carrying him up the stairs like a small child, but he was too disoriented and delusional with pain to care.

Ron placed Harry on a bed gently. He pulled the blankets over him and sat down in a chair next to the bed. Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room, talking out a bottle of purple potion from her bag.

"Drink this. It's a potion for dreamless sleep. Drink it all now." Harry allowed the woman to hold the bottle to his mouth. He swallowed the fluid and immediately the lights in the room flickered and he slipped into a deep sleep.

Harry awoke, groaning. Pain shot through every muscle in his body. His arm felt as if it were about to fall off. In fact, he thought it would be less painful to just chop it off. Harry opened his eyes and clutched his wounded limb. Writhing under the sheets he saw a chair next to the side table. On the table, a Chudley Cannons book lay open, undoubtedly Ron's. The door opened and Ron strode into the room.

"Oy! Sorry, mate. I went to the loo for a moment. I'm supposed to give you another potion to make you sleep. Bloody hell, you look horrible!" Ron exclaimed. Harry just moaned. Ron gave him his potion and Harry was glad to feel nothing as waves of dreamless sleep washed over his fatigued body.

Harry awoke many times from then on. Every moment that he was alert there was someone beside his bed, ready to give him his potion. Mrs. Weasley thanked him before he fell asleep. Harry had tried to say he was sorry, but he couldn't muster enough strength to move his lips.

Things went like that for a long while. Harry slept, Harry woke up, someone gave him the potion, and he slept once again.

Harry sensed movement above him. His arm hurt less than it had before, but still an incredible amount. He grimaced, opening his eyes as a burst of pain erupted through his arm. Ginny was sitting on the edge of the bed with a glassy look in her eyes. It looked as though she had been - was it crying? Harry looked up expectantly.

"Potion?" he asked. Ginny's eyes softened even more.

"No, Harry. I'm sorry. Madam Pomfrey said that you should be up by now. You've been asleep for four days already! How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine" Harry lied. He took a deep breath, wondering what exactly had happened to make him hurt so much.

"Oh, shut up, you prat. You are not fine. You're trying not to scream right now. I see it on your face. I know you, Harry. You're not fine." Ginny stared meaningfully in his eyes. She conveyed one message: He wasn't going to pull the wool over her eyes. Harry smiled slightly.

"Okay, okay. So it hurts like hell. Is that what you were looking for?"

"Yes, Mr. I-Pretend-I'm-Invincible-Even-When-I-Should-Be-Complaining, it is what I'm looking for." Harry chuckled, and then winced, as laughing sent his nerve cells in frenzy. "I'll be right back. I promised Ron and Hermione that I'd tell them when you woke up."

Harry nodded as Ginny stood up and left the room. Soon, Ron walked in, followed by Ginny and Hermione.

"Oh, Harry!" cried Hermione, rocking from heel to toe, looking relieved and intrigued at the same time.

"Hey. How are you?" asked Ron.

"According to your sister, I'm not allowed to say fine." Harry looked at Ginny, who was grinning.

"He feels like rubbish." She said matter-of-factly. Hermione and Ron sat down; both had worried looks on their faces.

"I really am okay. It just hurts a bit, that's all." Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry, causing everyone to laugh. Ginny had that gift, Harry found himself thinking. She had the ability to make people laugh in any situation. "How's your mom?" Harry asked both Weasleys.

"She's okay, a little shaken up, but fine. She just had a few scratches that she took care of right away."

"And everyone else? Dumbledore? Tonks, Lupin, Dung? What about Kingsley and your dad?" Harry was suddenly exploding with questions and uncertainties. A lump formed in his throat. Were they okay? Please, please let them have been okay.

"Tonks hurt her leg, but she's alright now. Dung somehow had a flower growing out of his ear, but we took it off," declared Hermione, as if flowers grew out of ears every day.

"Well, we didn't let him know at first. Kept asking why we all laughed when he went by." Ron added

"Otherwise, everyone's fine." Ginny finished.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. He lay back and looked at the ceiling, then sprang bolt upright. He didn't recognize the bed he was in. It wasn't the one he usually slept in when he was at Grimmauld Place. He looked around, an odd feeling in his stomach.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, his voice cracking somewhat. He needn't have asked the question. He knew exactly where he was.

"Oh, Harry! I'm sorry. It was the only place we could put you. I-" stammered Hermione, "It- I'm so sorry." Harry was mortified. He was lying in a bed in Sirius' room. He was in Sirius' bed. There was Sirius' chair. Sirius had been in this very room. He had been there, but now he wouldn't be again, ever.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, just above his glasses. He took a deep breath and exhaled for as long as he could. Sirius was gone. He was gone and there was nothing Harry could do about it. The room seemed far away. His friends seemed as though they were behind an opaque wall of unshed tears. The sadness surrounded Harry but someone was calling out to him, pushing aside the barrier of grief.

"Harry? Harry!" It was Ginny. "Are you okay? You look weird. Listen, we, er, well," Ginny faltered.

"His room?" Harry asked in a whisper. He said it to no one in particular, as if he was asking the universe why it was so cruel as to lead him there.

"You know-" Ron started.

"We are-" Hermione began at the same time.

"Do you-" Ginny said along with the others.

Harry raised his left hand, silencing his friends. "No. It's okay." He said firmly, answering their unfinished questions. But Harry wasn't really sure that it was okay. He wasn't positive that being in his dead godfather's room qualified as all right. In truth, Harry wasn't certain that _he_ was okay.

"We're going to clean it out tomorrow, so it's less…you know." Hermione said. Harry knew. She meant less like Sirius, less like when he was here, less painful. They were going to clean so Harry's godfather was easier to forget. He didn't know what to feel. He wanted to forget; it was simple, straightforward. But was wanting to forget right? Was it an insult to the memory of Sirius? Harry's mind tossed and turned. Inside Harry knew he would never forget, new wallpaper or not. He wouldn't forget Sirius or his parents.

"It's okay. I know." He said. Ron and Hermione shot each other a look of…was it relief? So they thought he was going to explode. They had a right to; Harry had done just that last year. But somehow Harry had thought that they too would know that he was beyond anger. Now he had nothing left. He was emotionally exhausted. Harry's capacity for feeling was consumed by sadness and guilt. There was no room for anger anymore. It wasn't as if he hadn't been angry. He had been angry at Sirius for leaving him, angry at Voldemort for choosing him, angry at himself for being so gullible. The wall back in his room at Privet Drive had many a dent in it caused by fury that Harry had been unable to control. Now, though, he was burned out. Harry was lost.

A/N: Kaity445 and Miss Radcliffe rock my socks! Greatest betas ever!


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